of fresh springtime mornings with overtones of almost ready for death, pungent earthy and all too real. Summer fades in and out daily, teasing the serotonin and fucking with the olfactory definitions. It feels like autumn, smells like spring and should be the full blown glory of late summer harvest.
achoo!
ahhhh. there it is. Some randomly escaped pollen or grain dust that has wended its way through the catapulting drops just to let me know it really is still summer.
The children all go back to school tomorrow and the world will ring with the stank of fear and occasional incontinence on buses locked away from life over summer while mothers do their joyous "the house is mine" dances and the neighbours' dogs wander lazy through their yards without no worry of debris pelting them from over the fence. At least until 3 oclock.
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